


The Blood Traitors' Daughter

by ambrolen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 2009, F/M, Incomplete, Quizilla, abandoned, lots of mudblood/blood traitor talk, old cringe fic, shag is said way too many times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28540032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambrolen/pseuds/ambrolen
Summary: A fic I started in 2009 on quizilla because I was mad at how other fics portrayed Draco, but I never finished it and never will.Draco's an ass. OC is also an ass but not as much of one. Harry and gang are portrayed slightly negatively.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

The week I turned eleven, I got a letter, as most eleven-year olds like me did, inviting me to attend  [ Beauxbatons ](http://www.hp-lexicon.org/wizworld/places/schools.html#Beauxbatons) , the highly spoken of French school. Many of my friends had already chosen to attend, and they and my cousins expected me to do so, as well. However, since my family had recently moved farther north, I received a similar letter, one my parents looked upon with pride, an invitation to go to Hogwarts, their old school.

As I am writing this story, I am sure you, my readers, will find it obvious which one I chose. Sure, Beauxbatons has its excitement, but what is more worthy of tale than the adventure of attending the school along with Harry Potter himself (though I did not realize he would be attending at that time)?

(I also hope you will shortly become accustomed to my sarcasm on the matter of The Boy Who Lived, as I never quite understood why living was so wonderful an accomplishment. I survive this world every day! Where is my fame and glory?)

On September 1 st of that year, I traveled by train to that mystical school, and stood in line nervously with all the other first years, waiting for my turn to try on that raggedy old hat. I watched as  _ the  _ Harry Potter sat on the stool, just as nervously as us mortals, and was sorted into Gryffindor (the same house as my mother), but I’m sure many expected no less—what better house than Gryffindor for Potter, defeater of He Who Must Not Be Named? It seemed an eternity before my name, “Whitsberg, Alexandria,” was called.

I composed myself and calmly walked up to the stool (though others say I was shaking horridly), picked up the hat, and sat down. I will never, ever forget that one conversation, though I’m sure no Hogwarts student every does.

“Clever, I see,” said the Sorting hat, “and smart. You have a tendency to do what you want, no matter who tries to get in your way. Whitsbergs are typically Hufflepuff, but you’re not meant for that, are you?”

“No,” I snorted inwardly.

“Your mother, she was a Gryffindor. Nice house, Gryffindor,” the hat commented, casually.

“Maybe for her,” I muttered to the hat in my head. “Bit full of themselves, if you ask me. All self-righteous and stuff.”

Though I could not see the Sorting Hat, I felt as though he smirked. “Your decision was made before I had the chance to begin, you’ll do best in SLYTHERIN!” The hat shouted the last word out loud.

I smiled and happily skipped past the booing Gryffindor table and into the welcoming arms of my new Slytherin family.

My real family wasn’t so happy.

The day after I sent a letter home, telling my parents about my house placing, I got a howler.

“HOW COULD YOU?!” my mother screamed at me for all the school to hear. “I WAS GLAD YOU CHOSE HOGWARTS INSTEAD OF BEAUXBATONS, BUT I THOUGHT THAT WAS SO YOU COULD LIVE ON THE GRYFFINDOR LEGACY! OR THE WHITSBERG HUFFLEPUFF LEGACY! OR EVEN BECOME A RAVENCLAW! ANYTHING BUT A SLYTHERIN! NOW YOUR GRANDPARENTS CAN’T STAND TO HAVE YOUR NAME MENTIONED! I HOPE YOU’RE PROUD OF YOURSELF, ALEXANDRIA!” And then the letter burst into flames.

There was a silence in the Great Hall. Every student at the Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and especially the Gryffindor tables glared at me, as if I committed some horrible crime. However, after a short moment, the entire Slytherin table burst into laughter.

“You almost went to  _ Beauxbatons _ ?” a dark haired Slytherin asked me incredulously.

“Ha! A Hufflepuff legacy!” an older student exclaimed, nearly falling off his chair from laughing.

“A pure blood family filled with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, but no Slytherins? What has this world come to?” another said in disgust.

“Whitsberg,” a blonde, silver eyed boy said. I looked at him nervously, not sure how to handle this attention. “You made the right choice.” He looked me in the eye and smirked.

And that was the day I fell in love with Draco Malfoy.


	2. Chapter 2

The goodbye from my parents was as cold as ever. They dropped me off at the train station and admonished my little brother as he attempted to wave me a farewell. I was disgusted by their behavior. The way they were treating me in front of Max, and the way they were treating Max directly, he’d probably end up as a Hufflepuff! Of course, that’s what my father and his family want, and my mother would prefer that to being a Slytherin.

I wheeled my cart toward platform 9 3/4 and saw the Chosen One already there. I rolled my eyes, but greeted him with a simple “Potter” and a nod as I pulled my cart up next to his. My mixed behavior toward Potter always confused him, and sometimes frustrated Malfoy. Sure, I made fun of him along with the rest of Slytherin, stuck up for Malfoy, and definitely didn’t  _ like _ the Scar Head, but I certainly didn’t hate him as much as my fellow Slytherins did, either. Apparently Potter was too used to thinking of things as being black and white, and was once again confused at my civil greeting, and hesitantly returned it before running through the barrier and onto King’s Cross Station. I laughed lightly and followed suit.

I appeared just as the Weasely family was saying farewell to Ginny, Harry, and Ron as they boarded the train. Disgusting bunch of Gryffindor pure bloods. Harry noticed me staring, and I quickly smiled and waved, before boarding the train on the opposite side.

I passed several compartments until I heard an obnoxious, high pitched laugh emitting from one, and entered it. Sure enough, there was Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and  _ Pansy Parkinson _ . Ugh, that girl disgusted me! I think the only reason she was placed in Slytherin instead of Hufflepuff (which is what her intellect deserved) was the fact that she was a complete bitch to everyone besides Malfoy, and especially to other girls. As if reading my mind, she looked at me and glared, then went back to smiling and draping herself all over Malfoy.

“Ah, Whitsberg, my favorite little blood traitor!” Malfoy smirked as I walked in.

“Ah, Malfoy, my favorite little spoiled twit!” I replied, ignoring Parkinson’s soft hiss at the insult to her “beloved” Malfoy.

“You seem to be in a good mood,” he noted. “Confuse Potter, again?”

“Yep,” I smiled. “Caught him as he was walking through the barrier. Next year, I swear I’ll make him run into it!”

Malfoy laughed. “You do that, and I may have to promote you to my favorite Slytherin!” Crabbe, and Goyle tensed a bit. Malfoy sighed. “All right, then. Favorite Slytherin  _ girl _ .” Parkinson stiffened, glared at me, and then decided to sprawl herself over Malfoy’s lap. He raised an eyebrow and smirked in response.

I snorted. “Right, well I’m going to go change. Tired of these filthy muggle clothes.”

“Why do you have to leave, Whitsberg? I doubt Crabbe or Goyle would object to you just changing in here.” Crabbe grinned and I groaned. Ever since I was forced to take him to the ball fourth year, he’s been not so subtly drooling over me.

“Sorry, Malfoy. As much as you want to see me in my undies, I’m afraid it’s just not very lady-like.” With that, I grabbed the bag with my robes and left.

I always enjoyed walking past the compartments on the train, especially if anyone was fool enough to leave theirs open. When I found one, I glanced quickly in and, if it wasn’t a Slytherin in at least their fourth year, I cast a nasty hex in their compartment and went on my merry way.

By the time I reached the washroom, I was quite pleased with myself. Four compartments were covered in slime, three had random items attacking the passengers, and another three had muggle clothes attempting to strangle their owners. I entered the small room, changed quickly, and made my way back, snickering at the chaos I had caused.

Our compartment was empty by the time I got back, and I figured either they were all changing, or Malfoy was having a quick romp with Parkinson while Crabbe and Goyle guarded. Or both. As I opened the door, I felt as though someone pushed passed me. I looked around, ready to hurl a few insults at Malfoy, but no one was there. I stood in the door and stared at the empty compartment until I was interrupted by a familiar snide voice.

“Guess her traitorous blood has finally made her lose her senses,” Malfoy said to Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson in mock sadness. The three snickered.

I turned and smirked. “You wish, Malfoy. Maybe then you wouldn’t get into trouble with your precious family for doing more poorly in school than a  _ lowly _ Whitsberg.” I entered the compartment and sat down, still glancing around me.

“Then what  _ are _ you doing?” Malfoy asked condescendingly, as he and his followers joined me in the compartment.

“I thought I felt someone… Never mind.” I shook my head.

“You sure you haven’t lost your senses?” he asked skeptically.

“I’m sure, Malfoy. Thanks for your concern,” I sarcastically replied.

Malfoy did this odd little jerk and glared at me. “Don’t think so highly of yourself, blood traitor. I was merely making sure I wouldn’t have to go through the hassle of detaining you if you went mad and tried to do something foolish,” he spat.

I was taken aback, but didn’t allow it to show and recovered quickly. “The only person who’s mad around here is you, Malfoy.”

“Watch your mouth, muggle-lover!”

“Well you must be mad if you’re grouping me in with those imbeciles who share my name.  _ They’re _ the blood traitors, not I.”

“Really, Whitsberg? I’m not sure. Sometimes I swear you’d do better in Hufflepuff or bloody Gryffindor than in Slytherin! You have barely even harassed  _ Granger _ for being a filthy mudblood!”

“Just because I’m in Slytherin doesn’t mean I have to act like a bloody Death Eater, Malfoy.”

Malfoy was silent. “Those are dangerous words, blood traitor,” Malfoy said darkly.

“What, going to get your dear daddy to come hex me?” I snickered.

“He won’t have to. I can defend myself.”

“Defend yourself? What do you—“ Malfoy lowered the sleeve of his left arm. I gasped while Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle smiled wickedly.

Malfoy looked smug. “That’s right, Whitsberg. You better watch what you say from now on.”

I couldn’t believe it; Draco Malfoy had been branded with the Dark Mark! I tentatively reached out to touch it, but Malfoy jerked his arm away and tugged his sleeve back down over it.

“You’ll not say a word to anyone, you understand?”

I nodded mutely, and Draco looked relieved for a split second, and then quickly smiled haughtily. “Besides, if you did, you’d have more than just me to deal with, especially with you being the daughter of blood traitors.”

Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson snickered, and I glowered at Malfoy. “You’d dare turn  _ me _ into the Dark Lord? After all I’ve done for you?”

Malfoy’s smile disappeared. “Well, only if you were to tell anyone. I have a mission to complete, you see,” he said in a sad attempt to save face.

“I’m insulted that you’d feel the need to warn me to not tell anyone, mission or not. I think you’ve forgotten just who you’re dealing with, Malfoy. Daughter of blood traitors or no, I’m a better Slytherin than you could ever be.” With one last glare around the compartment, I grabbed my bags and stalked out.

I almost ran down the hall of the compartment, finally finding one filled with first years. I slammed open the door, glared at the lot of them with my wand raised, and growled, “Out.” The frightened little first years were gone in a second, leaving the compartment all to myself.

I dropped onto the seat near the window and stared outside. My eyes began to burn, but I wasn’t weak enough to cry. I sighed.  _ Stupid git. Stupid, horrid Draco Malfoy and his bloody Dark Mark. _ I shuddered involuntarily.  _ And what kind of mission does he have? Can the Dark Lord  _ really _ have given that boy a mission? _

Not wanting to revel in these feelings of disappointment, worry, sorrow, and anger, I knew there was only one thing that could make me feel better.

I took out my wand and cast a quick spell to block off any eavesdroppers, and then pulled a large glass jar containing three brown spiders the size of my fist. I carefully opened the jar and levitated one of the spiders out, then quickly screwed the lid back on, but left the jar out. I placed the spider on the seat across from me and uttered, “ _ Imobulus _ ,” freezing it before it could scurry away. Then, pointing my wand at the defenseless spider, I gathered all of my anger at Malfoy for joining the Death Eaters, all of my jealousy toward Parkinson for being so physically close with him, all of my hatred for my family for not accepting me, and all the pleasure I take in destruction, and whispered one joyous word: “ _ Crucio! _ ”

MALFOY’S POV

“Shit,” I said under my breath as Alexandria stormed out. Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle didn’t hear me, thankfully, as they were too busy laughing, which gave me the time to pull on a smirk and lay back casually as if I had meant to have her storm out all along.  _ Shouldn’t have been so bloody sensitive, anyway _ , I thought. Now satisfied that I was in the right and Whitsberg would just have to get over it, I decided to enjoy the rest of the train ride. After all, I still had Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson. None of  _ them _ went mad over my Dark Mark. Hell, Parkinson seemed to love it! Of course, she seems to love anything I do. I can’t blame her; I  _ am _ pretty handsome, talented, clever, and just all around brilliant. I smiled to myself and absentmindedly began playing with Parkinson’s hair, ignoring the presence that was so obviously missing from the group.

One thing still worried me, though. Whitsberg said she had felt something and had been looking around as though expecting someone to be in the compartment. Even if she is an overly sensitive muggle lover, it wasn’t like her to act like that. Not to mention I felt as though something was amiss. I stretched and casually glanced at the ledge above my seat. Our luggage had moved to one side and something seemed to be squishing in one of the bags.  _ Potter! _ For a second, I panicked. What if he had seen the Dark Mark? He would go to Dumbledore and  _ that _ would be a load of trouble in itself! But the weak moment vanished quickly. Potter had seen nothing. Even if he had, the fool of a headmaster wouldn’t  _ really _ suspect me. He believed too much in the goodness in all. I chuckled inwardly.

Soon, the train stopped, and I waved Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle on ahead. As soon as they were out of site, I pointed my wand at the ledge above me and said, ” _ Petrificus totalus! _ ” Instantly, something large rolled off the ledge and hit the floor. I reached down and pulled the invisibility cloak off of Potter’s face and laughed at his frozen glare.

It was his fault my father got locked away. It was his fault Whitsberg was acting strange, which led to our argument. His fault.

I smiled wickedly and brought my foot hard down on his face, glad to see blood oozing from his nose. I draped the invisibility cloak back over him and said, “No one’s going to save you now, Potter! You’ll be halfway back to London by the time you can move again.” I laughed once more and left.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have for it. God. Quizilla certainly was a place.

I sat down at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall with Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson and glanced around. “Where’s Malfoy?” I asked, ignoring the first years’ sorting ceremony.

“Aw, did you miss me, Whitsberg?” Malfoy asked as he came up behind me and sat across from me.

“Hardly,” I replied, glaring at him.

“Still not over your little issue, then? I swear, you women. Always got your panties in a bloody knot.”

“ _ I  _ don’t always have my panties in a knot, Draco,” Parkinson cooed while grabbing his arm.

Malfoy shook her off. “That’s because you don’t  _ wear _ panties, Parkinson.”

Parkinson looked shocked and immediately began pouting, tears forming in her eyes.

I lifted an eyebrow. “Seems like I’m not the only one with their panties in a knot.”

“Oi, look at Potter!” I heard one of my fellow Slytherins say.

I turned around to see Harry Potter attempt to sit inconspicuously at the Gryffindor table. The problem was, his nose was slightly crooked and his face was covered in blood. I glanced at Malfoy who was smirking proudly.

“I assume you had something to do with that?” I asked grinning.

“Git was listening in on us,” Malfoy explained. “Hiding under that damn invisibility cloak of his.”

“So  _ that’s _ why I felt something push passed me!” I turned and glared at the now clean Boy Who Lived. “He needs to learn some common decency, that one. Sneaking in to other people’s compartments and listening in on private conversations!”

“I think he’ll keep that in mind after I smashed his nose in,” Malfoy laughed.

“Oh, Malfoy! That was so  _ strong _ and  _ wonderful _ of you!” Parkinson exclaimed, clinging to his arm again.

“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” he muttered, looking extremely proud of himself.

“Well, at least we know you’re good for something,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Unlike you, blood traitor,” Malfoy smirked.

“Oo. Feisty, are we? Guess you didn’t release all of your anger on poor Potter, eh?”

“Well, I know one way I can release some…  _ stress _ ,” Malfoy raised his eyebrow suggestively.

Parkinson giggled and snuggled closer to him.

“I  _ do _ hope you’re talking to Parkinson, Malfoy, because the only thing of yours that will be released around me is blood from your nose by my fist.” I smiled pleasantly.

“And you say,  _ I’m  _ the one who has some anger to release?” Malfoy asked, chuckling to himself.

I didn’t have a chance to reply as the headmaster stood and silently requested everyone’s attention.

Though I, unlike most of my fellow Slytherins, respected Professor Dumbledore, I found myself unable to listen to him or even become remotely curious about his hand. Instead, I watched Malfoy twirl his fork in the air with mild interest. When he mentioned the Dark Lord, I frowned to myself and actively listened less to what he was saying.

Malfoy was working for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named now, and Potter knew. Surely he was going to go to Dumbledore about it! And Dumbledore wouldn’t just sit back and let Malfoy do whatever mission he had…

As soon as the headmaster finished speaking, I dashed toward the Gryffindor table and found that damn Scar Head. “Potter!” I shouted angrily.

The Chosen One, the Blood Traitor, and the Mudblood turned. “Not you, Granger, nor you, Weasely. Just Potter.”

“Whatever you say to Harry you can say to us,” Granger said indignantly.

“Yeah, he’s just going to tell us later, anyway,” Weasely chimed in.

“Well then you can find out later, then, can’t you? Don’t you have prefect duties?”

Granger and Weasely glanced at Potter, then ran off to help the first years when he nodded. “Got them trained well, I see,” I remarked sarcastically.

“They’re not trained,” Potter immediately protested.

I waved him off. “Whatever. That’s not what I’m here to talk about. Come with me. I’m not going to eat you or anything,” I said when Potter looked unsure. Hesitantly, he followed me into an unoccupied classroom.

“So what’s this all about?” he asked as soon as I shut the door and placed a silencing charm over the room.

“It’s about what you over heard in the train.”

“About Malfoy getting a mission from Voldemort? What about it? Trying to protect that git, are you?” Potter spat.

“In fact I am! It’d be wise for you not to go to the headmaster about this, Potter. If I catch wind you have, I’m going to make your life a living hell.”

“Of course I’m going to Professor Dumbledore! What, are you going to let Malfoy do whatever he has planned? I’ve got to stop him!” Potter said angrily.

“Are you mad? Why would I let Malfoy run around and do whatever? I happen to like this school and I don’t believe the Dark Lord’s plans will help anything here. I’m going to stop Malfoy without throwing him in Azkaban.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Potter scoffed.

“Reason with him. Unlike you, some people actually listen to other people,” I said coldly.

“Not that git.”

“You don’t know anything about him!”

“I know he’s an evil coward who only thinks about himself.”

I laughed. “And now you just described half of Slytherin. But you’re right; Malfoy is a bit more cowardly than most. Now think, if Malfoy’s so cowardly, why would he willingly risk himself for a mission he shouldn’t be allowed to do in the first place? There has got to be another reason!”

“Whatever, Whitsberg. I’m still going to Dumbledore. Nothing you do or say will stop me.” With that, Potter walked out, slamming the door behind him.

“Your funeral,” I whispered.


End file.
